Aria's POV
The courtyard behind the manor had been transformed for the day.
Tables were set up, clay blocks stacked neatly, buckets of water, and simple tools laid out. A small fire burned nearby to keep the air warm against the autumn chill. Today's Luna duty—skill acquisition for the pack—focused on pottery.
A sturdy older woman named Thalia, hands already dusted with gray clay, was teaching the group. She had the older women gathered around her, showing them how to center a lump of clay on the wheel, how to keep their hands steady as the wheel turned.
I watched from the edge, fascinated by the spin, the way Thalia's fingers shaped the wet clay into something graceful.
Before I realized it, I'd moved closer.
Thalia glanced up and smiled. "Come, Luna. Join us."
I hesitated only a moment, then sat on the low stool beside her. The clay was cool and smooth under my palms. Thalia guided my hands, showing me how to press and pull, coaxing the lump upward into a simple bowl.
"You have good hands for this," she said approvingly.
I smiled in response, lost in the rhythm—the wet slide of clay, the steady turn of the wheel. A familiar presence then settled behind me.
Ivan.
He slid onto the stool directly behind mine, legs bracketing mine, chest brushing my back.
"Never tried this before," he murmured near my ear. "It's good Raine's encouraging the pack to do things like this. Keeps everyone connected."
His hands came around me, settling lightly on my waist to steady me as I worked the clay.
I could feel every inch of him: the solid warmth of his chest against my back, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with mine. His heartbeat thumped steadily against my spine.
My own heart responded, quickening.
His fingers flexed gently on my hips.
"Like this," he whispered, guiding my hands upward, helping shape the rising walls of the pot. His breath stirred the hair at my nape.
I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact.
The wheel turned.
The clay rose.
And I could barely breathe.
His heartbeat pressed harder against my back—faster now, matching the pulse in my throat.
The clay kept spinning.
Our hands moved together.
And for those long, quiet minutes, the world narrowed to just this:
The wet slide of clay.
The steady rhythm of the wheel.
And the undeniable, unspoken truth beating between us.
He wanted me.
And gods help me—I wanted him too.
Thalia stepped closer, peering at the pot between us. The clay had risen smooth and even under our joined hands, the walls sturdy yet delicate—a small miracle for two beginners.
She gave a low, approving hum. "You two did a fine job. Better than most first-timers."
I smiled, wiping clay from my fingers. "Thank you. It was mostly luck."
Ivan chuckled beside me. "And a lot of her patience."
Thalia's eyes twinkled as she studied us—our shoulders still close, his hands lingering a second too long at my waist before he pulled them away.
"Have you made pots before?" she asked.
We both shook our heads.
"No," I said. "First time."
"Never touched clay," Ivan added. "I usually break things more than I shape them."
Thalia laughed. "Well, you shape each other nicely." She tilted her head, gaze flicking between us. "Are you a couple, then?"
Heat rushed to my face instantly.
"No," I said quickly.
Ivan cleared his throat. "No. Of course not."
Thalia raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Hmm. You should be. You make quite a good team. Hands move like they already know each other."
My cheeks burned hotter. I ducked my head, pretending to study the pot.
"I have to get going now," Ivan stood abruptly, brushing clay from his hands, and walked off toward the armory without another word.
Thalia patted my shoulder gently. "Don't mind me, child. Old women see things young ones don't want to admit."
I managed a small laugh, though my heart was still racing.
But the truth sat heavy in my chest.
We weren't a couple.
We weren't anything.
And yet… the way we got along with each other.,,
Maybe Thalia wasn't entirely wrong.
Maybe we were something.
We just didn't have a name for it yet.
The rest of the day passed in a quiet blur. I moved through Luna duties—checking on the infirmary, helping distribute winter herbs, listening to an elder's concerns about the coming frost—but all the while, my mind kept drifting back to Ivan.
His hands on my waist.
The steady thump of his heartbeat against my back.
The way Thalia had looked at us and said, *You should be.*
By nightfall, I felt restless, unsettled in my own skin. The chambers felt too quiet, too empty. I needed distraction.
I slipped out and headed to the library.
The room was dim, lit only by a few low lanterns and the moonlight spilling through the high windows. I wandered the fiction shelves, fingers trailing over spines until I found what I was looking for—a worn romance novel, its cover faded but readable. I pulled it down, heart already beating faster.
I realized then that I wasn't alone.
Ivan sat in one of the deep armchairs near the window, a book open in his lap, lantern light catching the sharp line of his jaw.
He looked up when I entered, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into a small smile.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, voice quieter than I intended.
He closed the book gently. "I usually come here at night. Nighttime's the best time for reading. Quiet. No interruptions."
I nodded, clutching the novel to my chest. "That's true."
An awkward silence stretched between us.
He glanced at the book in my hands, brow lifting slightly. "What did you come to read?"
Heat rushed to my face—again.
I hesitated, then walked over to him and held it out so he could see the title: *Moonlit Promises*.
"I was just… thinking of something," I said softly. "I think I'm in love with a certain someone. That's why I feel like reading a romance novel tonight."
Ivan's expression shifted.
He stood slowly.
"Stop," he said quietly.
I blinked. "Stop what?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
I took a step closer. "Ivan—"
"Nothing can ever happen between us," he said. "As long as Raine is concerned. As long as you're his Luna. You promised."
"I promised because you asked me to," I shot back, frustration rising. "But I didn't promise to stop feeling this. I didn't promise to pretend I don't want you every time we're in the same room."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Aria, you don't understand. Raine—"
"Raine doesn't want me," I interrupted. "He's made that clear. He can't love me. The curse won't let him. So why should I spend the rest of my life in a cold marriage when there's someone right here who treats me like a woman, someone who actually sees me?"
Ivan's jaw clenched. "Because I'm his Beta. Because loyalty matters. Because if I cross that line, I lose everything. And I can't—"
The words cut off as I closed the distance.
I didn't think.
I just moved.
My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him down as I rose on my toes.
Our lips crashed together, far from gentle; desperately, hungrily, all the tension we'd been carrying for weeks pouring out in one bruising kiss.
Ivan groaned against my mouth, hands coming up to frame my face, fingers tangling in my hair. He kissed me back like he'd been starving for it—deep, possessive, tasting of need and regret and everything we weren't supposed to want.
I pressed closer, molding myself to him, feeling the hard line of his body against mine.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine.
We both knew we shouldn't have done it, but neither of us moved away.
The library was silent except for our ragged breathing.
And in that moment, the promise we'd made felt very far away.